


Blow the Dice

by Peacockery



Category: Cuphead (Video Game)
Genre: Addiction, Boss/Employee Relationship, Cuphead - Freeform, Dark Comedy, Gambling, Humor, Implied Sexual Content, Inkwell Hell, Innuendo, M/M, Sex Puns Ahoy, Teasing, The Casino, They may be dating while at work who knows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-18
Updated: 2018-05-18
Packaged: 2019-05-08 18:26:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14699778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Peacockery/pseuds/Peacockery
Summary: Yes, it was exactly what it sounded like. And King Dice hated hearing the joke every damn day at the office.





	Blow the Dice

**Author's Note:**

> I don't publish smut, but the most I can do is a lovely dose of innuendo instead.
> 
> Also I just wanted to practice writing a slimeball of a character. King Dice is pretty delish.

His shadow was a violet menace over the roulette table.

Uneasy folks loitered among the lost in their sunday best, frantically watching the wheel spin on a seemingly endless loop. Smoke lingered in the air. Glasses full of liquor more expensive than a suit clinked against the rims of the game tables. Some souls broke down sobbing once the wheel clicked and clacked to a jerking stop. The path of the ball broke wills and built foundations of hope.

It was all music to his ears.

At times, he often blended in with the help to watch the finks in their natural habitat. Slinking through the shambling crowd with a dignified silence to his step, the frontman of the casino watched the delicious ruin unfolding at the tables. A silver tray rested upon the tips of his fingers on one hand, which perfectly balanced their quivering stems and restless contents inside. His other arm hooked towards his chest with a fine cloth towelette draped just before his elbow. The bright sheen of the metal was unmatched by the dangerous glint within his pearly teeth as he flashed them in a smile of feigned good nature. 

“Another round for the winner’s table?” King Dice spun his words in a silky purr after nudging his way into the tight crowd of people. One distraught skeleton shivered away from him, while a more slurred imp in a pinstripe setup rubbed shoulders while oggling the tray.

“Many shhhanksss…..” He giggled while snatching up another fill of scotch. Dice pretended not to notice it splashing dangerously close to his own sleeve. Instead, his smile widened as he provided a gracious nod. His eyes caught fingers snapping in his direction from across the table.

Uncultured swines, all of them.

His lip twitched, but the manager returned the gesture with a wink as he clapped the drunken demon on the back before taking his leave. By the time he roped around to the other side, the agitated horse in the bowler hat was already puffing halfway through a fresh cigar.

“Get that swill outta my face,” He snorted while knocking the tray back. This time, the violet suit was not spared from the geyser of expensive liquor staining along his chest. Dice’s eyes sharpened to their pronounced teal brightness, and yet his smile never broke from its charming setting as he retrieved the handkerchief from its breast pocket. The animal furrowed his brows further while taking another deep puff. “You got a lotta nerve, feeding us sheep’s piss hooch and rigged bets.” He settled a hoof onto the edge of the table, narrowing his gaze into a squint. “I’ve been watching pretty boys like you, flittin’ around this place like you own all’a us innit.”

At this point, a few of the more lucid fools around the wheel had glanced up to watch. Did the king truly care? Not for a damned moment. He carefully set down the tray (by depositing it into another drunk’s hands) and nudged his ass out for a moment before taking a seat that a floor slave had pulled up. One lilac suited leg crossed over another, as he continued to dab at the darkening patches settling across his lapels and vest beneath. 

“I noticed this morning, that the sole in my left shoe was comin’ undone,” Dice mused with an exaggerated shrug. “And ain’t that a kick in the head? Me, the generous, swell fella who takes in poor souls lookin’ for a good shot at life, strutting around this nice carpet with bad shoes?” He snorted himself while faking a fond laugh. The stallion’s ears folded back as his brows fell harder onto his eyes. His ears perked up when the casino manager started to lean in as his smile grew. “So, I was just thinking, I may need to take a gander at the ole’ glue factory tonight…” Dice’s patented finger trick flourished itself across the counter top, allowing his hand to walk and skip as if it had a mind of its own as it tapped right on up to the empty glass of ice sitting in front of the gambler. He winked right at the moment his middle finger flicked the container right onto the horse’s lap, stirring up a squeal of surprise from the beast once the freezing cubes hit the clopper’s loins. Dice straightened himself up and adjusted his bowtie.

“The only thing crooked about this table is your lip. Fork up the coin or go kick rocks.”

He left the tray with the squabbling gamblers as he walked away.

This place was like babysitting babies with bricks for brains. All talk and no success, the lot of them. But, if they could waste money on rubbish suits, then at least their priorities with gold were in the right place. The king made his rounds to the next table, leering over a throng of dogs playing against a literal shark in a game of poker. He winked to the fish, who returned it after deciding which was next in his hand to throw down. Dice sighed at the music of anguish coming from the pack as he turned to take his leave.

Something caught his eye, however, as he made an effort to check out the claw games. A woman in a black dress with a rose for a head sat alone at the bar, clutching a purse with one hand while rubbing at her eyes with the other. If he had a heart still, it would drop; no respecting man would just let a lady cry into her wine. But, respect had been donated for his contract years ago. Was he still a man? The throb in his chest agreed.

Purring at the opportunity, Dice took a moment to slick his brows using the head of his pinky. As he preened his mustache while taking his steps, he noticed another figure walking on up to her. The guy looked tall despite his hunch, though the trench coat draping his entire figure looked hilariously tacky in a fine establishment like this. Dice halted, narrowing his gaze to watch the strange man taking a seat beside her. Even after some shuffling, he was still swallowed up by the strange shroud of that coat. But, whatever. Pretty ladies being hit up by equally “mysterious” dorks around here were pretty common. Dice rolled his eyes and shook his head while he rotated on his heels to resume walking.

A soft coo stopped him again.

Even the most vicious of brutes fell victim to the siren’s call of a woman’s sweet voice; it was like hearing wind chimes through the heat of a storm. In that moment alone the buzz of the casino suffocated around the piercing gentility of that sound. Try as he may to redirect, the thumping in his chest turned the direction his feet were going.

Just a quick swipe by the bar, that was it. Perhaps he could just get a glass of his favorite type of brandy and he’d be back out onto the floor where he wouldn’t be caught oggling the pretty faces. The manager gave a lit tip of his head to the confused bartender, practically falling into the farthest seat away while trying to at least look like he was just sitting there fluffing himself back up. The pips on his head strained like the little radar dishes that they were, dragging back sounds from all angles despite him only wanting to hone in on one. Finally, the clarity of the woman’s hushed voice rang through clear during his dusting of a patch on his knee.

“My friend, I don’t know where he went…”

Dice’s smile turned more salacious. Good, no ball and chain involved. He was feeling better already. He fanned his hand to shoo the barkeep away once his drink was delivered, chuckling warmly to himself while swirling the contents around. Go on, sweet thing…

The mysterious suitor could have been a walking trash bag underneath that coat, but his voice was oddly smooth as it talked back to her. Dice watched the figure leaning in just a smidge, bumping shoulders with the dame. Her petals bristled up like the fur on a startled cat, but she smoothed them over as her cheeks turned a darker shade of maroon. It was very alluring, and Dice was nearly leaning halfway over the bartop just to sneak a good look at her.

“He’s been sitting at the craps table night, saying he was striking it big and that we could go home…” She frowned at her untouched glass of merlot. “He always is telling me that he was going to strike it big and pay me back for all the money I lent him for his career...I just hope he is ok.” 

For the strangest of moments, her sorrows actually pierced through the thick plaque on his heart. Dice paused halfway through a sip to recollect on all the crybabies he had to rough up today. No memories of a craps table standoff, but then again he couldn’t go near that area without snickering to himself at the name alone. Craps. The prophecy fulfilled itself. Even now, he tried to keep a straight face, right down the line from a woman in distress. He truly was a good card in the bunch.

He resumed his casual eavesdropping, nursing on the sweet nectar hitting his tongue while predicting the time it would take for the stranger to buzz off. The suitor bobbed a bit in a way that looked like a head nod, and Dice swore he could see a hat now poking out from the collar. It looked oddly off kilter, as if it were dangling on a stick lurking beneath. The figure started to shuffle through his pockets a moment later while still mumbling incoherent things that not even the alert pips on Dice’s face could pick up. Something about the words were ringing a bell for the woman’s mood, however. She was leaning in closer to her new companion as she watched him, gasping lightly one he drew his arm back out to show her something that his sleeve was unfortunately cutting off.

Dice quirked a brow, sighing while taking another drink. Why was he even this enthused about some random broad…

He choked on the liquour a moment later once he finally picked up what the stranger was saying.

“Go on, give ‘em a blow. Promise, your luck will look brighter…”

Then it all made jarringly perfect sense.

A hot throb of fury coarsed through his veins as Dice almost shattered the glass in his hand. It was at that moment that the Devil’s tail finally curled itself out from under the covering of the coat as a smug rumble of a laugh rippled out of it. That infernal bastard. 

He refused to glance back at the demon as he nearly tripped out of his seat and eventually stomped past, taking deep breaths through his teeth to mitigate any signs of heat rushing to his face. Today’s bet between them had been of his boss’ choosing: King Dice absolutely hated that joke, as his employer used it at least forty times a day to keep his lackey in line. Nothing was more humiliating than having sex jokes thrown one’s way in a room full of drunks. 

His perfectly tailored shoes could have scuffed burn marks into the expensive carpeting from how heated his nerves were burning, but it didn’t take much for the bristling anger to crackle back down once he was back on the floor. Perhaps it wasn’t too bad an idea to linger over to the craps area. It would look good in the face of his ego and perhaps there would be something in it for himself if the pretty lady was saved by a swell guy such as him...the manager exhaled through his nose and brandished his trademark grin, nodding in mock politeness to the gaggle of players lined up around the rim of the table. The dealer was a card-headed man who spoke no less than twelve words a shift; he gave a simple glance in return to his superior while returning the nodding gesture towards all of the requests popcorning around the table. Dice laced his hands behind his back, leaning in to see the odds and bets currently being thrown down.

For the most part, the game seemed fairly balanced at the moment with some fiery competition. Only one blithering idiot was reduced to tears so far, sobbing freely into his glass of gin while a floor hand stiffly kept refilling it. Such art could bring a tear to his eye.

Dice patrolled the table, snickering along with some of the gamblers while patting the shoulders of the losers. His pips kept all of the mingling commotion in check, picking points of interest here and there to check in on. The loudness of the casino was a bane to some, but for him the advantage granted him the smugness of feeling like an eagle scouting for the mice scampering through the grasses. 

One noise stood out to him, mixing in with the sobs of the biggest loser at the table. Reluctantly, he turned his head and paled at the sight of the Devil again. Free of the coat this time, the boss was shamelessly broadcasting himself this time, smooth talking the weeping man into the same offer he gave the lady, all the while glancing up at his lackey with a sinful grin as he waved his palm beneath the drunkard’s noise. The two innocent dice rolled and clacked against one another while he whispered the same promise: a guaranteed boost of luck, in exchange for giving the dice a little hot blow.

At this point, the mustache on Dice’s face was stiffer than his spine. His eyes twinkled with bursting anger while his hands fingered the air in a feeble attempt to keep himself composed. Normally, smiling was infectious whenever he locked eyes with the master to his soul, but not this time. The great King never lost his bets. That was what the public could only see. 

The best option to a kerfuffle such as this was also the most cowardly, but he could cut his losses. Showing the Devil the back of his stylishly tailored suit, Dice took his chance to turn tail once again. First a pretty lady, then a worthless bit of living trash? Was his reputation that tantalizing to whore out? Never. He didn’t sign his soul to be a boot licking lackey. He had worked hard for this suit.

He was playing with his cuffs by the time he reached the door he had been seeking out, using an elbow to roughly barge it open in order to slip inside. The stall farthest away was where he slunk into, bolting it shut and taking a seat. His hands immediately went to his face, feeling the throbbing heat even through his gloves. The Devil shouldn’t have seen the flush; Dice had moved too fast. Seeing the flush meant he lost the bet, and he couldn’t fathom to think what the loser had to take home for it. But in here, he was safe. The men’s room had saved him before on many awkward occasions; the lord of darkness himself never had to piss, so why would he ever come in here?

His own morbid curiosity was biting at the back of his brain to see his reflection proper in a mirror beyond the stall door, but Dice was no fool. In here he was safe. In here, the truth didn’t have to burn his face further. He could just sit here for a half hour, mending his pride and self feeding himself any sweet lie to think otherwise. But sitting on a dirty toilet seat was for losers and lightweights losing their liquour, not a prim and proper gentleman such as he. The longer he sat thinking of that aspect, the more his legs started to grow numb with antsiness. His ass ached from the uneven dips in the contouring of the seat. Phantom smells started to suddenly offend his nostrils despite the great care in aromatherapy that the attendants always left near the sinks. The restroom door creaked open as he sat in his own paranoia, sounding off the light clicks of old boots scraping against the floor. The stall door beside him remained silent, so the theory was that the newcomer was loitering around one of the mirrors. Dice listened while playing with his hands.

Just the typical tears and thick self pity he had heard before, it seemed. Losing everything was an Olympic sport in this place. The distraught gambler moaned out his fears while taking an unnecessarily long time to wash his hands, but it wasn’t like Dice was too concerned about the water bill in Inkwell Hell. After the third round of hateful self reflection did Dice start tuning out while rolling his eyes. Cry a damn river, already. It would waste more water. 

It would be uncouth to leave in a time like this. The common rabble didn’t need to see him in a public bathroom of all places. So he sighed quietly and crossed one leg over another once again, reaching up to check on the heat of his face. It was diminishing slowly. There was no sign of his boss...perhaps he had gotten away by the skin of his teeth. The bet was still on. Satisfied, Dice snickered lightly to himself and nodded along to the shopping list of self loathing that the gambler was rambling to the faucet at this point. Another set of feet entered, soft and padding but he didn’t care at this point about people watching. At this point his ass was as numb as a whore during happy hour, and he wanted to get back to the fun on the floor. Drumming his fingers against his crossed knee, the king cheek palmed himself as he waited. Great, now the two charmers were chatting to each other. By the time he left he may be able to celebrate his retirement. 

But something about the newcomer’s voice was….

His eyes widened.

God dammit.

“I hear ya, son...I hear ya...say, how about I help a fella out? Here, in my hand is potential for better luck on the cards. All ya gotta do…”

**Author's Note:**

> Question? Requests? More shenanigans? Check out my blog!
> 
> Socks-on-parade.tumblr.com


End file.
